If My Life is a Dream, I Want to Wake Up
by dhauren
Summary: The path out of darkness isn't easy. Bucky Barnes can only hope that he's strong enough.
1. Chapter 1

So, this story is from Bucky's POV, and it deals with topics that some readers may find uncomfortable, awkward, or offensive. Just saying. Read at your own risk.

This is the third installment in a series. The first part - **When Passed My Friend and Left Me Standing Bleakly. **The second part is **To Soothe the Savage Beast**

* * *

The apartment was too small.

James Barnes, known as 'Bucky' to his closest friends, paced his bedroom in extreme agitation. He was grateful. He would never stop being grateful for being rescued from the life of the Winter Soldier. And he loved his two best friends. But in the three months since his 'awakening', the apartment had grown far too small for all three of them.

Or, rather, it was far too small for him, and Darcy and Steve.

Breaking through the rewrite of his mind had been like waking from a long sleep. The last thing he remembered was falling. Then suddenly, there was Steve and Darcy, relentlessly trying to 'wake' him up. He had memories of his other life, as the Winter Soldier. But those memories were dim, as if a dream. Bucky had gone to sleep in the 40s, just like Steve had, and everything around him was new. The dim memories inside of his head helped him adjust, but it was like seeing things through a fog.

Once they had grown more comfortable with each other, Darcy and Steve had returned to their normal patterns of behavior. They were a couple, and while their focus had been on Bucky and his recovery, their relationship had taken a backseat. But once he was more in control of himself, their relationship came back to the forefront.

Steve was nothing like the awkward idiot Bucky remembered around women. He had to believe that Darcy had a lot to do with that. She wasn't going to let someone be awkward around her. It must have been an overload to Steve's poor senses, but he learned how to handle her. It was probably inevitable that he fell for her. He had a thing for brunettes.

Now that they could pull their focus back from Bucky, he frequently noticed them looking at each other. Intense stares that sent a lick of flame into his core. Bucky figured it was the universe getting even with him. Poor Steve used to be the one watching him with the dames. Now Bucky watched and envied.

Enhanced hearing was not something he had, but he didn't really need it. When Darcy and Steve were having alone time in their room, he couldn't help but to hear it. Darcy wasn't exactly quiet. And it was driving him back to insane very quickly. Neither one seemed to realize what it was doing to him.

He had, of course, taken what pleasure he was allowed to as the Winter Soldier, but there was always a reason for it. It was always a means to an end. Desire did not exist. There was only physical gratification, and the completion of a mission.

But Bucky Barnes had desires and wants, and it had been a hellacious long time since he'd been able to fulfill them (70+ years). Being forced to listen to the enjoyment of others was sheer torture, and on those days, his skin was too tight, and he had the desire to break something. If he did, though, Steve would just look at him with sad eyes. Or worse, Darcy would heave a huge sigh, and start talking to calm him down. He didn't want to let them down or disappoint them, so kept everything bottled up.

He also didn't want to jerk off to the sounds of them getting busy with each other, but he was so hard it hurt, and he couldn't even see straight at this point. So he turned his TV up really loud, slid his real hand into his sweats, and muffled a groan as he wrapped fingers around himself. It took an embarrassingly few number of strokes until he was shuddering and convulsing in release.

Bucky flopped back onto his bed, breathing a little fast, and uttered a few silent curses when he felt the sticky wetness on the inside of his sweats. He couldn't keep going on like this. He needed to separate himself from them, and that thought caused pain. They were everything to him. His best friends; the two people who had pulled him from the darkness. But for his own sanity's sake, tenuous as it already was, he had to break free.

Steve would be crushed, he knew. The captain would look at him with those sad eyes, and it would hurt like a sucker punch to the stomach. And Darcy? That would be even worse. She felt sort of proprietary about him, since she had been instrumental in his recovery. She had the tendency to hold things or people she loved very close, and he didn't think she'd be able to let go.

He'd considered Natasha as a relief option, since they had history, but one look at Clint Barton's expression whenever he was around her was enough for Bucky to stay away. Since that decision effectively eliminated his options, he was stuck. Unless he could convince them that he was cleared for unsupervised excursions out in public, he had to endure, or get away.

A perverse and twisted part of him wondered how Steve and Darcy would handle it if he had a woman visit.

The bathroom was at least far enough away from the master bedroom that Bucky couldn't hear anything, when he finally roused himself to clean up. He decided to take a shower while he was at it, and dumped his soiled sweats in the shower stall with him. Because there was no way he was throwing them in the hamper for Darcy or Steve to find. Darcy had a habit of stealing his dirty clothes when she did their laundry, and Bucky just couldn't live with the thought of her realizing he was shooting off in his sweats by himself. It was humiliating, and he didn't want her to pity him.

One of the benefits (downsides?) of having been injected with a bastardized version of the super soldier serum was that his body's recovery time was very quick. Bucky could only imagine what Steve dealt with, because it could sometimes be highly inconvenient. Especially if there was no outlet for release. So when he started soaping himself, and the inevitable reaction occurred, Bucky just gritted his teeth, and turned the faucet to cold water. Eventually it faded, and he emerged, shivering and cold.

Before drying off, he made sure his sweats were clean, and squeezed the water out of them rather savagely. Then he did dry off, trying not to touch the fake arm too much. It was a reminder of what he had been, and no matter how much he wanted to forget, the arm was always there as a reminder. Strangely enough, Darcy always seemed to touch the arm first. It was a level of acceptance that not even Steve was capable of, and Bucky tried not to think about it too much. His feelings for his best friend's girl were already too strong. He didn't need to encourage himself.

Clean, dry and dressed in fresh sweats, he headed back to his room. The other bedroom door was still firmly shut, so he did the same to his, shutting it behind him. He threw himself down on his bed, turned off the bedside light, and stared blankly at the television. There wasn't much on the television that could engage his attention, but he liked the sound. It gave the illusion that he wasn't alone.

Boredom and lack of purpose were going to send him screaming back into the abyss. Sleeping was probably right up at the top of that list as well.

Sometimes he was able to sleep soundly. Bucky treasured those nights, because he woke up feeling like himself, and like he could do anything. Those nights were in the minority though. There were too many bad memories to leave him in peace, starting with his own death. He had died. Bucky knew that. But the icy water had preserved him, and when he'd been found, they'd resuscitated (resurrected?) him. Like Steve, his body had been preserved, due to the strange cocktail of drugs within it.

Other nights, most other nights, he dreamt of ice and falling, or of hunting and killing brutally. Those were the worst. The memories of his time as the Winter Soldier were uncompromising in their explicit detail. He choked the life out of victims, shot them through the heads, or sliced open their throats. Always, he could feel the splash of hot blood or the desperate hitches as they tried to breathe. Worse, he could feel the grim satisfaction he himself took in completing his mission.

This night was a bad one. There was a man who would not do what his controllers wanted him to do. The Winter Soldier was sent to make an example of him, in a very specific way. The man had a very young daughter, and he sobbed like a baby when she was tortured and killed right in front of him.

Bucky had those memories. They were part of his life, even if he'd not been himself, and to relive them was excruciating. He fought up out of the nightmare, clawing at the bed sheets and blankets, trying to erase the memory and the feel of what he'd done. There were hands on his arms, calling to him, trying to pull him back to himself. When he came back, it was with a choked cry that turned into agonized sobs.

Bucky turned on his side, pulling away from the hands on his arms, and curled into a fetal position. There had been blood. He had been covered in so much blood and his ears still rang with the cries of the father and the child.

It took a long time to pass, and he was completely wrung out when it was over. Darcy was behind him on his bed, arms around his waist, talking softly. Steve was in front of him, on his knees on the floor, torso sprawled on the bed, arms around Bucky's shoulders. Steve's face was creased in grief, and that nearly killed Bucky. Steve shouldn't look like that, not for him.

"It's over, Barnes," Darcy assured softly.

"Buck? You back with us?" Steve raised his head.

He shook them off, sitting up hastily. "I need to leave," he said in a voice hoarse from screaming. "I need to get clear."

He didn't need to look at either face to see the hurt there, but he didn't deserve to be part of their closeness. And it was theirs, not his. He loved them both, but he couldn't keep being around them. He was still broken, and his darkness dimmed their light.

"Tell Fury or whoever to get their security detail ready, because I know they won't let me be on my own without watching me." He pulled his knees up to his chest and slid both arms around them, staring straight ahead. "If they want to restrict where I go, then tell them to get a place ready."

Darcy's hand was warm on his arm. "Barnes?" It nearly killed him to hear the hurt in her voice, but Bucky couldn't do it anymore.

"Tomorrow at the latest," he told them in a dead voice.

"Bucky?"

He couldn't handle that. Not Steve sounding so lost and unsure of everything. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. "Please go," he said quietly. "I don't want to be around you anymore."

He heard Darcy urging Steve to his feet, but he could still hear Steve's lost little boy voice. "I don't understand. Bucky?"

"C'mon Steve. He needs to be alone right now."

He heard them withdraw, the bedroom door rattling when Darcy slammed it shut. Bucky didn't even need to look to know it had been her. Steve was too hurt, too lost to be angry. Darcy's hurt translated into anger. But it was better that way. Better that they both be hurt but free of him. Safe from what he could do.

He wasn't sure how much later it was when the bedroom door opened again. Bucky looked up in time to be rocked by a slap to his face.

Darcy was coldly furious. "How could you say that to him?" she hissed. "Why would you say that to him? I know it's not true, Barnes, so why?"

He rubbed his cheek. "It is true, pumpkin. I don't want to be around either of you anymore. I feel stifled, suffocated, like I'm only half a man." Oh how those words hurt to say out loud, but it was for the best. They would never be able to move on, to truly live, while worried about him. While being his caretaker.

She slapped him again, tears in her eyes. "I don't know why you're doing this. I know you're lying."

Bucky made himself grin, like he didn't have a care in the world. Like his own heart wasn't shattering into pieces at the thought of leaving them. "You think whatever you want to, pumpkin. I just want to be rid of you two."

A sob escaped her, and Darcy retreated, face creased in sorrow. Bucky forced his face into the impassive lines of the Winter Soldier – no emotion. Inside, he felt like he was crumbling. But he couldn't stay. He didn't want to come to resent them, and forever being on the edge of their closeness would do that. It was better this way.

Romanoff and Barton came for him the next morning.

Bucky hadn't emerged from his room. He couldn't bear to be around either Steve or Darcy right now, so he stayed hidden away. Barton had contacted him the night before with the news that he could move into a S.H.I.E.L.D monitored apartment closer to the regional office. There was a question in the archer's voice, but he didn't voice it. Bucky thanked him politely, and suggested a time when he would be ready to go.

He didn't have anything to pack, except some clothes. Everything else in his room had been gifts from Darcy or Steve, and he couldn't bear to bring anything like that with him. It would be too painful of a reminder of what he couldn't have.

He was hoping to disappear without further confrontation, but when Bucky emerged from his room in the morning, Steve was standing in front of the outside door in full Captain mode, arms folded across his chest, looking grim. Darcy stood off to one side, eyes red rimmed and swollen, but with her mouth set in an angry line. Barton and Romanoff waited by the door, without readable expressions.

"I don't know what happened, Bucky, but this doesn't feel right. I need you to tell me what happened."

Bucky strolled to the kitchen counter, and propped his hip against it, inhaling deeply, corner of his mouth curling up in a hard grin. "I'm tired of being your little pet project, Steve. Or the stray animal you can't stand to leave out on the street, Darcy. Thanks for the smothering, but I'm done with that."

He saw each word hit them like actual blows. Darcy choked back a sob and fled to the bedroom, leaving Steve still in his way. The captain's eyes were narrowed. "Fine. Done smothering. Have all the space you want, because I'm thinking you're not Bucky right now."

Bucky smiled, with a lot of teeth. "Or maybe I just started being Bucky again." He stood, and raised an eyebrow until Steve moved. "See ya, Cap."

Barton and Romanoff flanked him as he left the apartment, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. They remained silent until the three of them entered the elevator.

"That was harsh," Barton told him.

Bucky didn't even acknowledge that. He was being stared at, quite intently, by Natasha. She saw too much, knew parts of him too well.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked. "Sometimes it helps."

That was a little closer to the truth than Bucky wanted anyone to be. He swallowed hard and shook his head. "Am I allowed out on my own?" he asked.

Her stare was unnerving. "Not unsupervised. S.H.I.E.L.D doesn't trust your recovery that much, yet."

Bucky clenched his jaw hard, hands unconsciously forming into fists, immediately noting the tensing of the two agents escorting him. "How about visitors?"

One elegant red eyebrow climbed in question. "Doubtful. Do you really think Steve or Darcy will come to visit you?"

He shook his head. "Not them. Not anyone involved in S.H.I.E.L.D. Just…" He clenched his jaw again. Damned if he would articulate that he needed to get laid.

Barton got it. The corner of the archer's mouth twitched up in a grin. "I think it can be arranged," he assured. Then, when Natasha looked at him, "Don't worry about it, Nat. It's a guy thing." He nudged Bucky with his elbow. "We'll talk then. When there aren't any judgmental ears around."

Natasha's sour expression almost made Bucky chuckle. "There should always be judgmental ears around you, Clint, because the only judgment you have is poor."

"I resent that. Occasionally, it's only questionable."

"By whose standards?" she demanded. "Stark's?"

Barton's face creased in disgust. "Awe Tasha, that wasn't nice."

"Whoever said I was nice, Hawkeye?"

Their bantering helped soothe the anxiety that was gnawing at Bucky's gut. Of all the terrible things he'd done in his life, deliberately trying to hurt the two people who had saved him was the worst. He couldn't erase the visual in his head of Darcy's expression crumbling, and the tears that immediately followed. Steve hadn't shown nearly that level of emotion, but that only meant he was keeping the hurt inside.

He remembered a time, dimly, of having that level of ease with Natasha. She went by Natalia then, and hadn't yet been broken. He had played a large part in breaking her spirit. But something in her still had hope, and she was dependent on him. Since he had done nothing to discourage that dependency, he was deemed flawed, and taken in for re-conditioning. Bucky couldn't really remember that part, but he had a very clear memory of trying to kill her. That had been his assigned mission. He had failed, and she had then failed to kill him, which was always seen as a flaw on her part. Still, she was valuable enough that they decided not to kill her for her failure. He was shipped off to cryostasis, until they might have need of him again.

He missed having that level of comfort with someone. All he'd had was the time before the war, when he was a playboy, showing all kinds of dames a good time, and protecting his asthmatic, puny best friend from his own altruistic beliefs. It was a dim memory of a magical time. Once he became a soldier and went to war, that was over. He was one of many - cold, scared, and just hoping like hell that he'd live to come home.

Hope almost disappeared when his unit had been captured. Caged and worked like animals, their hope slowly dwindled as no attempts to free them were made. Fear blossomed as men were taken to the isolation ward and never returned. There was no comfort to be had. Bucky longed for the days where he could lose himself in the warmth and softness of a woman's touch.

When his time came, when the Hydra soldiers dragged him out of his cell in the earliest hours of dawn, Bucky abandoned hope. He knew what being taken to the isolation ward meant. It was a painful death sentence. Schmidt's mad doctor, Zola, liked to conduct experiments on the Allied soldiers. No one knew the nature of those experiments, because no one ever came back from them. Bucky was going to find out, but the knowledge would die in painful torment with him.

The bitter taste of regret, for a life he didn't get to go back to, was so thick in his mouth that he choked as they dragged him to his fate. One of the strongest feelings of regret was tied to Steve. Steve would inevitably die by some punk's hand, trying to be noble without realizing that his body couldn't support his ideals. He'd always been there to support Steve. They looked out for each other, and as Bucky was being strapped down to a table, he wanted to see his best friend one more time. He wanted to tell Steve to be smart, but to keep being a great man.

Then there were needles and knives and the burn of chemicals in his veins. The dwarfish face of Zola became his own personal hell, and Bucky just wished he'd die faster. He learned, intimately, how much pain the human body could take before the spirit broke and he answered any question asked of him. But that didn't stop the torment. There was only more pain, more needles, more knives, and more chemicals.

When Steve's face appeared, looking down at him in horror, Bucky rejoiced. He was dead, or in a state so close to it that Zola couldn't hurt him anymore, because Steve was there to stand between Bucky and pain. He patted Steve's cheek when his arms were released, and then had to frown in confusion when Steve helped him stand up. Steve was huge!

"What happened to you?" he had to know, tongue barely working. It was swollen and dry, and Bucky couldn't even get his feet to work as Steve hauled him assay from where he'd been tortured.

"I joined the army," his best friend quipped.

It was a salvation that Bucky wasn't expecting. He began to have hope again as he and the rest of the Howling Commandos followed Captain America on a Hydra search and destroy mission. They could have normal lives again, once the war was over. And, miracle of miracles, Steve already had himself a girl, even if neither one of them would admit to it. Bucky was worried at first, because who wouldn't like Steve now? But Peggy Carter's eyes, while appreciate of the physical, grew impossibly warm whenever Steve's character shone brightly. And Steve confessed that she had looked at him the same way when he was an asthmatic shrimp.

Bucky could only hope that he'd find someone to look at him like that. But he was terribly afraid that the outside was all dames ever saw of him. His inner self wasn't nearly as shiny as Steve. Still, there had to be someone, somewhere…

Then, they went after Zola in an icy highland, and when Bucky tried to be Captain America, all his heroics got him was blown out of a train. By some miracle, he managed to grab onto a railing on the side of the train that had been blown open. Steve appeared moments later, reaching out to him, but the railing, buffeted by the air from the train's speed, snapped free, and Bucky fell, screaming out his rage and regrets. He squeezed his eyes shut, because he didn't want to see what he was falling into.

A hand seized his wrist, stopping his fall, and his eyes snapped open, only to find that he wasn't dropping into an icy abyss. He was in an elevator with Romanoff and Barton, crouched on the floor, with Natasha holding tight to his real arm. Her eyes were wide, and her hair was a little disheveled. Barton was slumped in the corner of the elevator, blinking, with a bloody nose.

"That was a bad one," the redhead remarked. She had seen it once before, where a memory from the past took over. Back then, Bucky hadn't been himself, and didn't know where the memory came from or what it was about.

He slumped, arm still in the air, still tethered to reality. "You caught me," he noted hoarsely.

Natasha tugged on his arm, pulling him reluctantly back to his feet. "I didn't want to find out what would happen if you hit bottom. I don't think Clint could handle it."

Barton wiped at his nose. "Not many people surprise me, Barnes. Congratulations. You're in a very small group that includes a god." He accepted a helping hand up from Natasha, who hadn't let go of Bucky's arm yet, keeping him anchored. The archer's eyes held a grudging respect as he slid up the side of the elevator until he was completely upright. He rotated his jaw gingerly, and then shrugged. "Nasty elbow strike you have, Barnes. Damn metal arm."

Bucky looked away. "Sorry Barton."

When Natasha was sure he was firmly back in reality, she released his arm. "Why don't we take the stairs?" she suggested. "The down motion of the elevator probably isn't helping."

Probably not. Bucky nodded, noting for the first time that the emergency stop on the elevator had been pulled. Natasha's doing, he was willing to bet. She knew about triggers, and must have realized instantly that the dropping motion of the elevator was one of his.

They took the stairs the rest of the way down to the lobby of the apartment building. There were six other S.H.I.E.L.D agents waiting for them outside. Bucky recognized them. They had all, at one point or another, been on guard duty while he had been at S.H.I.E.L.D. They knew what to expect from him should he attempt to escape.

"Fury holds a grudge," Barton explained, at Bucky's pained look. "It will take him awhile to forgive the assassination attempt."

Understandable. Bucky was on his best behavior as he ducked into a black SUV with Barton and Romanoff . He didn't say anything to anyone, ignoring Natasha's worried gaze, and just paid attention to where they were going, so he could retrace the path if necessary. In case he needed to get back to Steve and Darcy. If they would even ever want to see him again.

The apartment was of average size, sparsely furnished, well inside a secured building. There were no windows. For one moment, ever fiber of Bucky's being cried out against going back into confinement, but then he remembered the torment of staying with Steve and Darcy. And he couldn't do that either.

Natasha seemed to feel guilty about it. She couldn't meet his eyes. "It's been fully stocked with food, drinks, and supplies. You should have everything you need."

Not everything. Bucky looked over at Barton, who curled one side of his mouth up in a grin. The archer waved off the other S.H.I.E.L.D agents, and aimed a pointed stare at Natasha. She frowned at the two of them, but finally herded the others out, with an angry stomp to her booted heels.

Barton made himself at home, settling onto the sofa and kicking his booted feet up onto the coffee table. "So…I've been around Rogers and Lewis when they start to get all touchy and start staring at each other like they're mentally undressing each other. Can't be comfortable to be around."

Bucky leaned against the closest wall, staring into space. "No," he agreed shortly.

Clint nodded. "Based on personal experience, it takes a little while after your mind is your own again to start feeling normal…urges. And it might be really strong when that happens."

Bucky looked at him. "You've been programmed before?"

He didn't miss the way Barton's face went still. That was usually the reaction of someone who had lived through the worst type of abuse or torture. Bucky would know. He'd lived through it, and handed it out.

"The god that surprised me? Took over my mind. Turned me into the perfect tool against S.H.I.E.L.D and the Avengers. A lot of people that I worked with died because of that." Barton's eyes flicked to meet his. "This is also how I know that it takes a while for Fury to forgive an assassination attempt. I shot him in the chest."

Bucky blinked. "He survived. Maybe you weren't trying hard enough."

The archer snorted. "He was wearing a bulletproof vest at the time. He survived your attempt too."

"I wasn't trying to kill him. I was trying to draw out Captain America."

"That didn't work out quite the way you were expecting."

Bucky snorted. "No. But I'm glad it worked out like it did. Now…"

Barton grinned hard, stretching his arms up over his head. "There's this woman I know. Not an agent. She was saved by a S.H.I.E.L.D agent once, and since then she's been…available. She's has had experience being around agents with our…unique...issues."

This had to be one of the most uncomfortable conversations Bucky had ever had. "So she knows how to keep herself safe?" Because that was a huge concern. He didn't know what he would do in that situation. It had been a long time. A very long time.

Barton nodded. "Yeah. If you want…I'll contact her."

Bucky was curious. "She's not…picky?"

The archer rolled his eyes. "No. She's willing to help any agent that might need…help…that way. Gender isn't important either."

Well if that didn't make his pants a little tighter, imagining some girl on girl action. The part of him that remembered his time as the Winter Soldier didn't even blink, but his core identity hadn't ever even really considered something like that. At least, not as anything other than a wild imagining. And he desperately needed the help this woman could offer. Taking care of things himself wasn't very satisfying, and the sounds of Steve and Darcy's enjoyment kept echoing in his head.

Bucky nodded. "Yeah. Please."

Barton popped to his feet. "Okay. I'll set things up. She has automatic clearance for this type of thing."

"A S.H.I.E.L.D approved camp follower?" Bucky asked, using the only term he could think of to describe it.

"Something like that, yeah. Try not to go stir crazy here, okay?"

That was going to be an issue, but he'd deal with it.


	2. Chapter 2

Ugh. This chapter is awful. So full of pain and torment toward the end. Grr. I promise – it'll be worth it in the end. Read at your own risk.

There's a bit of intrigue added in this chapter. I'm curious to what everyone thinks about it.

* * *

Her name was Tessa. She was gentle and kind – a balm to Bucky's tormented psyche.

Barton brought her to visit on the second day of Bucky being on his own. It was a good thing, too. The windowless apartment was growing smaller and smaller. The sounds of the television couldn't distract him from the fact that he was alone. He had become used to the warmth associated with Steve and Darcy, and their sounds. Now, it was as if he were back in the cold of the Winter Soldier. Alone and unloved. Not a person, but a weapon to be brought out and used when needed. Weapons didn't need company.

Barton's phone call, advising of pending company, was a welcome distraction. Bucky absently checked himself in the bathroom mirror, winced at what he saw, then shrugged and called it good enough. The long hair was tangled and greasy, and there was heavy stubble on his cheeks. His clothes were wrinkled because he'd slept in them and not bothered changing when he woke up. He looked like the person who had recently been deprogrammed from being an assassin and was now alone with the thoughts in his heads. A far cry from his lady's man of the past, but if this woman was a sure thing, he didn't have to try to impress her.

Barton's knock distracted him from his own thoughts, and Bucky hastened to stand before the door, staying back so his visitors could enter.

The woman wasn't what he'd been expecting. She was tall, nearly as tall as Bucky, with a willowy frame and wavy blond hair. Unlike the vibrant personality of Darcy, or the steely strength of Natasha, this woman exuded an air of quiet calm. She stepped forward to offer her hand when Barton introduced her, and enveloped Bucky's hand in both of hers.

"You've been through a lot," she acknowledged in a quiet, soothing voice, staring into his eyes. Hers were a soft, welcoming brown. "Forget all of that for now."

Barton knew when he wasn't needed, and withdrew swiftly. Bemused, Bucky allowed himself to be drawn toward his bedroom. All the torment of the past few months swirled within him, desperate for a physical outlet, and just that quickly, he was almost incapable of walking. It seemed like all the angst had flowed south, along with his blood supply.

Thankfully, Tessa seemed to realize he wasn't in the mood for talking. She tended to him with gentle hands and no judgment, removing his clothing. She smiled in wonder at the fake arm, running her hands along the seam where it joined his shoulder, and raising a questioning eyebrow, hands freezing when he shuddered.

"No, it's okay. Just…not used to people touching it."

He felt like a blushing virgin as her soft hands touched him, unable to control the shaking of his body. It had been so long…

She guided him to the bed, pressing him down softly, and stretching out to lie beside him. "Do you prefer to be dominant or passive?" she asked, stroking one hand along his cheek.

Bucky was always the dominant one. Before the war, when he became a Russian assassin, then the Winter Soldier, he was always in charge. But he wasn't any of those people anymore. "Passive," he croaked out. "But…I'm not sure…"

She pushed at his shoulder to get him to roll over onto his back. "Tell me if you need me to stop."

He watched, transfixed, as she slowly removed her own clothing. When her naked body was exposed, she raised an eyebrow at him, as if in challenge. The right side of her body, from shoulder to hip, was covered in shiny burn scars.

He reached out to touch those scars, smoother than he would have thought they'd be. "This happen when you got saved by a S.H.I.E.L.D agent?"

Tessa settled over him, knees on either side of his abdomen, pert ass perched on his stomach. "Yes. There was a giant monster rampaging through Harlem. Everything was on fire, and I was unconscious. The agent pulled me free, got me immediate medical attention so I didn't die. He certainly didn't have to. But he did." Her face fell. "I didn't even get to thank him. The monster, Blonsky, threw a car on him."

Everyone had demons, Bucky reflected. His current demon was located several inches from where it wanted to be, and it was painfully ready to be exorcised. "So this is how you thank him? By helping others?"

She smiled softly. "It's what I _can_ do." She leaned over, one arm reaching out to the corner of the bed, and picked up a little packet. Condoms had certainly evolved since the 40s. They were probably more effective now, too. Bucky stared, mouth open to draw in air, as she tore the packet open and swiveled at the waist so she could roll it on. He nearly embarrassed himself from just that light touch, hips arching up off the mattress.

"Eager," Tessa noted softly, turning back around to face him. "Tell me if you need me to stop."

Bucky couldn't even think coherently anymore, much less vocalize anything. He did manage a guttural groan once he was seated inside of her, and for a few minutes, there was only the sounds of harsh breathing and the slap of flesh meeting flesh. Entirely too soon, he was digging his heels into the mattress and arching up in release. Tessa stayed poised over him, hands braced against his chest.

"Shit," Bucky groaned when he could speak. "I'm sorry."

The giving goddess sitting on his pelvis smiled down at him. "I'm not here for myself. I'm here for you."

She held true to that statement throughout the night, sometimes being dominant and sometimes passive, whatever Bucky needed. She was exactly what he needed to help soothe his turbulent thoughts and relieve the tension that had been building in the months since he'd come back to himself. The tension that had been exacerbated by Steve and Darcy's relationship.

By morning, he was completely exhausted, but in a good way. Bucky sprawled out, conscious of the drying sweat on his body, and thought fleetingly of getting a shower, but couldn't bring himself to get up.

Tessa was pulling her clothes back on. It looked like she was preparing to leave, and the thought of being alone again left a sour taste in Bucky's mouth. He propped himself up on his elbows. "You don't have to go," he offered hesitantly.

Her smile was a touch sad. "I do have to go. There's someone else who needs me later today, and I need to sleep and recuperate a little bit before then." The smile widened. "You have a very short recovery time. I wasn't expecting that. You'll make someone very happy someday, if you allow yourself to."

That was too insightful for someone who'd been in his presence for only half a day. Bucky swallowed hard, hoping he didn't look as pathetic as he felt. So damn needy, and not wanting to be alone. "Thank you, for helping me."

She smiled and walked back over to the bed to lean over and press a kiss to his cheek. "It was my pleasure."

He didn't bother to get up to see her out. It was only a few steps from the door of the bedroom to the outside door anyhow, and he didn't want to be staring after her like a drowning man. The click of the door closing, shutting him back in with himself, was very loud.

He did finally rouse himself to shower, washing off the sweat of the night's pleasure. It had been very enjoyable, but he was left feeling empty. The brief comfort of a woman's embrace quickly ebbed when realizing that the only reason she'd been with him was because someone had asked her to.

After the shower, it became inevitable. Bucky had to sleep. He hadn't. Not since leaving Steve and Darcy, but the marathon bout of physical activity had drained the last of his reserves, and not even his stubborn will could keep him awake anymore. Even an enhanced body needed to recharge. He might actually need to eat soon too. But not before sleep.

* * *

Barton stopped in a couple of times a week over the next three weeks just to chat, or so he said. Bucky wasn't stupid. Steve or Darcy or both had probably asked the archer to check up on him. They were probably getting quite the juicy reports, because he was a mess. The silence was deafening, and without other people talking to him, the guilt and voices in Bucky's head were too loud to be drowned out. When they got too loud, he broke something, and the clamor in his head receded for a little while.

The apartment was a mess.

He was not expecting, and therefore was completely unprepared, for a visitor from S.H.I.E.L.D's upper echelon. Bucky was working out, doing pushups on the living room floor, when he heard the door being unlocked. S.H.I.E.L.D tried to maintain the illusion that this wasn't a cell, but the door could only be locked or unlocked from the outside, so that illusion had failed within the first day.

Barton always texted before one of his visits, so Bucky had no idea who was entering his space. He sprang from a prone position up into a wary crouch, hand reaching out for a broken piece dinner plate that had been thrown against the wall.

The man who entered, with two S.H.I.E.L.D agents acting as his guard, was older, clean cut, wearing a suit. A bureaucrat then. Bucky unwound from his crouch and stood, folding his arms across his chest, but not relinquishing the shard of broken plate in his hand.

"What do you want?"

"Sergeant Barnes. You've been enjoying S.H.I.E.L.D hospitality for some time now."

No attempt to introduce himself. The arrogance of a bureaucrat too. The two agents flanking him…didn't really look like agents. More like mercenaries. Bucky's internal alarms went off. He didn't like this.

He shrugged. "Since S.H.I.E.L.D doesn't trust me on my own, I don't have a choice but to enjoy the…hospitality." He spit out the word, so they would know what he thought of it.

Suit smiled, and it did nothing to quell the feeling of wrongness in Bucky's gut. "Nothing comes for free in this world, Sergeant Barnes. Considerable resources have been expended on your treatment and upkeep. It's time for you to start earning your keep."

Bucky's eyes narrowed, and every instinct in his body went on even higher alert. "What did you have in mind?"

"There are enemies of S.H.I.E.L.D that need to be eliminated. You have talents unique to that problem."

Bile rose in the back of Bucky's throat so swiftly he nearly gagged. "No, actually, I don't. The Winter Soldier did, but the Winter Soldier is gone." He used every bit of self-control that he possessed to keep his body from trembling. He had been afraid of this. Afraid that someone would want to utilize his death dealing skills.

Suit's eyes narrowed, and his smile turned hard. "Those skills are still with you. It is easy enough to condition you to utilize them again."

"Get out," Bucky snarled. His arms unfolded, coming down to his sides, ready for action. Would they try to take him by force?

Suit's eyes flickered down to the plate shard still clenched in Bucky's fist, then back up to his face. "Disappointing, Sergeant. Ah, well….you haven't had enough time yet to truly consider my offer." He cast a quick look around. "I suspect that at some point, doing anything will be preferable to staying here. I prefer to have your compliance in this. It makes things…easier. I'll be back."

"Don't bother!"

Bucky didn't relax until the door shut behind them and the lock re-engaged. Then, he just stood there for several minutes, shaking in suppressed fury, trying to overcome it, but it was rising like a tide inside of him.

With an enraged cry, he set about systematically destroying everything in the apartment with as much violence as possible. Was this what Steve's intervention had shielded him from when he first recovered? Would S.H.I.E.L.D have deprogrammed him only to reprogram him for their own purposes?

He was vaguely aware, at some point, of someone opening the door. His reaction was pure instinct – Bucky threw a cabinet door at the intruder. Red hair flashed in his vision as the intruder dodged and then darted toward him. Fight instincts kicked in, and he sent a barrage of household items toward the intruder, but she was fast. In a complicated move, she dove at him, legs winding around his and bringing him crashing to the floor. Bucky tried to roll away, but those legs locked around his neck, cutting off his air supply.

"Stand down, Barnes," a voice hissed in his ear. "It's Natasha."

It wasn't until his vision was beginning to go gray that his fight instinct told him it was okay to stand down. Bucky slumped, and Natasha immediately released her leg lock on his neck. Air rushed back into his lungs, and he coughed violently until it eased.

"What happened?" she asked, sitting up behind him and bending over so he could see her.

Bucky didn't answer, just curled up into a ball. She was S.H.I.E.L.D, and probably here to present Suit's idea in a different fashion. Knowing Natasha, it would be a practical presentation that he would be hard pressed to refuse. After all, what does a former assassin do for a living?

"James?" She had taken to calling him that. He was no longer Yasha, and didn't want to be reminded of that time, and Natasha respected that. The few times she had used a first name with him since his recovery, it had been James.

"Get out," he said dully. "Tell them no. There's not anything they can say to convince me."

"Who?"

Ah. Playing ignorance. Apparently, she was to be the sympathetic ear in opposition to Suit's hard-ass proposal.

"Get out," he repeated.

There was a long moment of silence, but then finally he heard her rise and depart. The click of the outside lock engaging was very loud.

* * *

Tearing apart the apartment hadn't made him feel any better. He was lonely and haunted, with only his own thoughts for company. Bucky finally managed to drag his sore and slightly beat up body into his bedroom, but the pillows still held a slight scent of Tessa, reminding him that he was a freak and desperately alone.

The sound of the outside door opening didn't even rouse him. He simply didn't care right now. Bucky threw the fake arm over his eyes and resolved to ignore whoever was coming in to brave the wreckage. He heard careful footsteps coming closer to the bedroom, winding their way through the debris littering the floor.

He smelled it first – the warm, fragrant scent of pumpkin spice coffee. It sent his stomach plummeting toward his backbone in despair. He couldn't deal with this right now.

"Barnes?"

She was inside the bedroom. The smell of coffee, of his salvation and peace, was overwhelming. Bucky turned on his side away from it.

"Your hand…" she trailed off.

It was streaked with blood, he knew. The skin of his knuckles had split after repeatedly punching unyielding objects and tearing apart breakable things, and blood had run down his real arm. It didn't matter. Bucky wanted to be alone with his darkness. He didn't want to dim anyone else's light.

"Go away, pumpkin." His voice was strangled, hoarse from screaming in rage and loneliness.

"God, Bucky." He twitched. She didn't call him Bucky often. Hardly ever. A hand fell on his real shoulder, warm and forgiving. "Why did you do this? What's wrong? Why did you push us away?"

He stiffened. Us. That's why he pushed them away. They had something he apparently never would and it was painful to be around. He could remember when _he_ was the most important person in Steve's life. At the beginning of his recovery, he was first in both of their priorities. But gradually, as they saw he was back to stay, their focus shifted back to each other and he was left alone in the cold again.

"Go away," he said again, eyes squeezed shut.

"No."

He felt the bed dip behind him, and arms slid around his shoulders. A face pressed into his back, and Bucky shuddered. This was torture.

"Natasha said you needed us. She said it was bad, that you were letting it consume you. Why, Barnes? Why did you leave us?"

'Us' again. She didn't realize. Bucky pulled away from her and slid across the bed, popping to his feet on the other side. "I don't know how Steve put up with it, before the serum. He's a stronger man than I am, I guess. I can't stand being the unequal part of the group. So take your 'us' and go."

She didn't say anything for a while, standing silently on the other side of the bed. Bucky didn't turn to see her. He didn't want to see her. He just clenched his fists, wishing she would go.

"Is this what you really want?" she asked softly. "You want to be alone, locked in a windowless apartment, watched by S.H.I.E.L.D agents constantly."

"It's better than the alternative." Constantly casting his shadow on their light. Of course, he wouldn't stay locked in here for long. Suit would come back for him, take him in for re-conditioning so he could become an assassin for S.H.I.E.L.D. He would be let out on assignments, and locked in when not needed. Hell, they might as well put him back in cryostasis when not needed. He would become exactly what Steve and Darcy had saved him from.

Really, what other future did he have?

The gentle hand on his arm nearly undid him. The coffee that appeared in his line of sight was salvation. Bucky seized it, ignoring the startled eep from Darcy's mouth, and drank the whole thing without stopping. It burned his mouth and throat, but he didn't care. The taste was a reminder that someone cared about him, Bucky Barnes, and not the Winter Soldier. It was also a reminder of what he didn't have.

"You need to go, pumpkin."

Instead, she wrapped her arms around him from behind. "I miss you. Steve misses you. You became a part of our life, a huge part, and then you just left us."

"I'm not your love child," he whispered, remembering her joking of just that once or twice. "I can't, Darcy. I can't be around the two of you."

"Why not?" she cried into his back. "Were we that horrible to you? I don't understand! Steve doesn't understand. He misses his best friend."

Bucky slumped, hands sliding over her arms, and beginning the painful process of unwinding them from around his torso. "I miss both of you," he admitted. "But I don't want to be around you anymore." Better to cut the ties, before he was programmed to be a S.H.I.E.L.D assassin. S.H.I.E.L.D would probably erase them anyhow. The thought closed his throat in despair. He didn't want to lose them, but he couldn't imagine that S.H.I.E.L.D would let them stay in his head. They would be a distraction to him completing his missions.

The sob from behind him was agonizing. Bucky turned slowly, and drank in the sight of her. The tears streaming from her eyes nearly killed him. "Don't cry, pumpkin. It's for the best."

He wasn't expecting her to burrow into him, arms pulling free of his hands and sliding around him in a tight hug. "Best for who, Bucky? I'm miserable. Steve's miserable. From the looks of things here – you're losing what you fought so hard to gain. So how is it best?"

He stared down at the top of her head, trying so hard to deny the feelings he felt. Slowly, against every smart thought in his head, his arms rose to slide around her shoulders. He felt the little sigh she gave as she pressed even closer. He wanted this moment. Wanted to treasure it until it was taken away from him. He bent his head and pressed his mouth to her hair, inhaling the familiar fruity scent of her shampoo. For a moment, he could imagine that she was there just for him, that there wasn't a giant elephant named Steve in the apartment with them.

Where was Steve? Why would he trust his girl to come see the crazy man by herself?

"Where is Steve?" he asked softly, mouth moving against her hair.

Darcy's arms tightened around him. "He's doing some publicity thing with Stark for the Avengers."

"He hates those things."

"But he understands why they need done. Please come back with me, Barnes. Please. Seeing you like this would kill Steve."

The moment passed. Bucky straightened, muscles going rigid, closing himself off. "I said no. You need to go, pumpkin. Thanks for the coffee. Haven't had any since I left."

Darcy felt the difference, and slowly pulled back, tilting her head up so she could look at him. Bucky steeled himself, wanting to get lost in her eyes, but never forgetting that she only came to him via Steve. He flinched when one of her hands rose to slide against his cheek.

"Go, Darcy. Go back to Steve."

She stepped back, lower lip trembling in an effort to hold in tears. "Can he…can he come see you?"

Bucky turned away from her. "It's better if he doesn't, pumpkin." Let Steve remember Bucky, before Bucky was turned back into a killing machine. It was only a matter of time.

He heard her quiet huff as she tried to hold in a sob. Then she moved away and the outside door opened and shut behind her. To Bucky, it was like the nailing of a coffin lid.

He threw himself back down on the bed, wishing desperately that he had never been awakened. It would be so much easier…


	3. Chapter 3

Whew! Lotta action in this one, and more intrigue! Not quite as much angst as the last chapter. It went slightly off direction to where I thought it would go, but I'm happy with the end result.

* * *

He didn't see anyone for a week.

The television was gone. It had been a casualty of the Suit visit. He was left to pace the boundaries of his confinement, completely isolated from all human contact, staring at the walls or the ceiling. It wasn't healthy, and he knew it, but something in his spirit felt like it had broken, and Bucky was full of despair.

Sometimes he slept. When he did, the dreams were usually terrible memories of what he had done as the Winter Soldier. Or worse, his subconscious tortured him with betrayal: Steve turning him over to Suit, or him stealing Darcy away from Steve. The expression on his best friend's face in either dream tortured him. In the first, Steve bore an eerie resemblance Zola, grinning in delight at the emotional pain Bucky felt when he was handed over to Suit for reconditioning. In the second, Steve was broken, a shell of a man after the betrayal by his girl and his best friend.

Sleep wasn't a great idea. That left pacing, or working out in the limited space available. There wasn't much left to destroy, so that wasn't an option. Bucky also refused to clean up the mess he'd made. A deep part of him reveled in the destruction he'd caused. It seemed to be the only thing that was under his control.

He was very close to losing his mind completely after the sixth day of not having anyone to distract him from himself. Unexpected salvation occurred early afternoon on the seventh day when he heard a commotion in the hallway outside. Since even S.H.I.E.L.D related business was a welcome distraction from his own dark thoughts, Bucky drifted over to the door, picking his way carefully through the destruction he'd caused.

"You're being reassigned," he heard. "All Level 2 and above agents in this building are to report outside."

"What's going on?" another voice asked.

"Unknown."

Hmm…some excitement in the world of S.H.I.E.L.D? Bucky wondered what was happening. At this point, even oblivion was preferable to the long hours of nothing. Why would only the lowest level agents be left on guard? Maybe S.H.I.E.L.D was done holding security risks. But if the building's occupants were being liquidated, wouldn't higher level agents be preferable?

Then his stomach dropped. Suit was coming, and he didn't want anyone to know what was going to be done to Bucky. So, easily intimidated agents, Level Ones only.

To hell with that. Bucky would rather die than go back to being an assassin. He slid away from the door, and turned to look over the destruction. Ah. The remains of the bed frame, twisted into angry shapes, should suffice. He scooped it off the floor, pinching off the twisted metal at certain spots to have two lethal swords.

Then he drifted back over to the door to wait. It wasn't long before he heard other voices outside.

"Sir, what's going on?"

"All Level 2 and above agents on guard duty were reassigned. There's been an…incident. Why are you still here?"

"Two days and one certification away from Level 2, sir. My physical certification got pushed back. I was in the group that got sent to London to round up that alien monster that was chasing birds. It sort of threw me through a building. Broke my leg in four places."

"I forgot about that. I'm promoting you, congratulations. Captain Rogers' girlfriend was snatched out of the coffee shop she always visits this morning."

Bucky froze. No. Darcy snatched? What?

"The captain has reacted…poorly. Word from above is that they don't want their golden boy heading out on some vindictive crusade, it would tarnish his image. So the captain has to be detained."

Bucky's stomach nearly dropped to his feet. He felt a flash of heat move through him, followed by ice cold. They were 'detaining' Steve to keep him from rescuing Darcy? To protect his public image? Were they fucking stupid?

The newly promoted Level 2 agent outside his door seemed to agree. "We're detaining Captain America when his girl has been kidnapped? How, exactly?"

The voice of the upper level agent was weary. "Shot him with tranqs. It slowed him down enough that we could secure him with adamantium restraints, but we have to keep pumping tranqs into him."

Rage rose in a red tide inside Bucky's head, clouding his vision. They were fucking tranquilizing Steve to keep him from going after Darcy? When the hell did Steve become an enemy of S.H.I.E.L.D?

"Sir…that seems dead wrong."

"Just…just follow orders, agent. Here's the address of the Captain's apartment. Do not discuss this with anyone else except the agents on site. We have very strict orders to keep this under wraps."

So the other Avengers didn't find out. Because they would liberate Steve and hunt down Darcy immediately. What the hell was S.H.I.E.L.D thinking? Who was running this fiasco?

Bucky took a step back from the door. Purpose, after so long being without it, felt good. His best friend needed him. He had to get to Steve, and then…then they would go get Darcy. And anyone who got in Bucky's way was going to regret it.

It felt as if a switch inside of him flipped over from broken to driven. Bucky curled his hands tightly around his makeshift weapons, took two more steps back from the door, then exploded into forward motion.

The door never stood a chance. It buckled outward, spilling Bucky to the hallway floor. He rolled smoothly to his feet and disarmed both agents without blinking. They gaped stupidly at him, and a well-placed hit from his bed frame swords put both of them down, unconscious. Bucky took the Level 4 badge but left the guns behind, moving toward the stairs with purposeful strides. He didn't want to kill the grunts who were just following orders. But he would track down the idiot in charge. This was a whole new level of insanity.

He took the steps six at a time, body remembering the fluid agility that came with being the Winter Soldier. He barely touched the surface of the step before leaping to the next one, all muscles finely tuned and keeping him moving in a graceful descent.

He had to get to Steve. Steve would be frantic with worry. And Darcy! Why had she been grabbed? To use against Steve? To use against Thor? Information? Would they dare harm her? Darcy would be terrified, or worse, she would be sassing her kidnappers, trying to hide her fear.

The possibilities welled up in his head, finding fuel in the memories he didn't want to remember. How long had she been gone? What was happening to her? Was it someone with a grudge against Steve that had grabbed her?

Brain in overdrive, Bucky hit the street level door in mid jump. It exploded outward and he rode it to the ground like a surfboard, skating across a sidewalk and coming to a halt in the street. Bucky kept moving, smoothly dodging traffic, tuning out the honking horns and screeching brakes. He reached the other side of the street and did a quick spin, eyes flitting over the scene, looking for agents posted outside. He saw nothing, so orientated himself the way he had first arrived, and began backtracking, striding along the sidewalk as if he belonged there.

He pulled out his cell phone while he moved. Darcy had bought it for him, and that thought made his stomach clench. He hadn't needed it until he'd decided to get away from her and Steve. S.H.I.E.L.D either didn't know about it, or didn't care. Since he'd become chummy with Barton, he also had the man's private cell number. He typed out a quick text, advising of the situation and that he was going to free Steve. If Barton was able to pass that on, the Avengers would very shortly be involved.

His bed frame swords were attracting too much attention, so Bucky discarded them in the nearest trash bin. He needed to make better time, though, so casually moved to a motorcycle parked along the street. He'd learned all kinds of useful skills as the Winter Soldier, among them hotwiring vehicles and the ability to look like he was supposed to be doing what he was doing. If anyone was suspicious of his actions, they hid it well.

The motorcycle roared to life, and Bucky gunned it into the street, weaving in and out of traffic skillfully. His eyes flitted around, never resting, watching for law enforcement. It wouldn't do to get into a chase situation. He didn't want policemen to get involved in this situation. It wouldn't end well for them.

He made excellent time, and was soon approaching Steve and Darcy's building. Bucky pulled the motorcycle into a side street and parked it, scanning for agents. They had to have people stationed outside, but he didn't spot any of them. There were no suits, so if there were agents, they were dressed casually.

The direct approach was out. His arm was too noticable, and any S.H.I.E.L.D agent would immediately identify him from that. But…he had skills.

He took a circuitous route to the building, coming in from behind it. There was an entrance in the back as well, but that wasn't what Bucky was aiming for. He was more concerned with the light pole by the corner of the building, near the dumpster area. One thing the mechanical arm was good for was for gripping things that normal hands could not. He could squeeze tight enough with the metal hand to not slip as he scaled his way up the pole. And hope that no one was looking.

At the top of the light pole, he pulled himself up onto the lamp, utilizing the insane balance skills that apparently came with the super soldier serum, even the subpar version inside him. Then, still hoping no one noticed him, he bunched the muscles in his legs and leaped up toward the building. More specifically, toward a third floor balcony on the corner.

He knew instantly that he wouldn't get the height he was hoping for, and recalculated his options. The metal hand shot out and grabbed the base of a balcony post. It crunched alarmingly when his body reached the apex of its jump and dropped toward the ground, but the post held together. Bucky gritted his teeth, hating that he was suddenly reliant on the metal arm, and reached up with his real hand to get another handhold. Then, with a bunching of his arm and shoulder muscles, he pulled sharply upward, and popped up over the balcony balustrade, landing lightly on his feet.

On a better day, he'd pick the lock on the balcony doors and slip into the apartment attached to it, but he had no lock picking tools with him. Bucky wrapped the metal hand in the tail of his shirt and punched through the balcony door. The sound of breaking glass was minimal, and he reached through to unlock the door and step into the apartment. It was dark inside, so luck was with him. He moved swiftly through the apartment to the door, and stepped out, eyes darting both ways. It was clear on this floor. Steve and Darcy's apartment was on the eighth floor, so he needed to navigate up five floors, most likely through a shit ton of S.H.I.E.L.D agents.

Bucky broke into a run, and found the stairwell door quickly. He pushed it open and darted in, eyes sweeping for agents, but the stairs were clear, so far. Rather than the boisterous descent he'd made in his escape, he opted for stealth on this invasion, gliding up the stairs on the balls of his feet. Every sense was on alert, straining to hear sounds of someone else, nose flared to try to catch any scents.

He could hear them from a floor below, voices shouting instructions, and a slurred angry shout rising above everything else. They couldn't keep Steve sedated, because of the serum, but they were keeping him groggy enough to hold him. Bucky's rage flared again. How dare they?

He came to a halt, muscles tensed and ready to fight, and considered his options. He had no idea how many agents were up there. A frontal assault would be foolish. They would end him before he even got close to Steve. While he healed faster than normal people, enough bullets would kill him. So, infiltration from where it would least be expected.

The Winter Soldier's campaign to draw out Captain America had been without any of the subtly he was skilled in. With any luck, S.H.I.E.L.D wouldn't anticipate what he could do.

Bucky left the stairwell on the seventh floor, and took a moment to get himself oriented. The details he had noticed when leaving Steve and Darcy's apartment were immediately available when he wanted them, another side effect of being trained as a super assassin. He absorbed and stored situational details like a computer. This floor mirrored the one above, so he loped though the hallways until he found the apartment directly under Steve and Darcy's. Then he knocked.

Luck was not with him this time. He felt footsteps coming across the floor, and then a long pause. Bucky noted the peephole in the door and assumed he was being looked at. His greasy tangled hair and stubbled cheeks probably weren't inspiring a sense of security, so he slid a hand into his jeans pocket and pulled out the S.H.I.E.L.D badge he'd swiped, holding it up to the peephole. After another measured pause, he heard locks disengaging.

A middle aged man with graying hair opened the door cautiously. The way he stood told Bucky that he held some kind of weapon behind the door. "Yes?"

"Good evening sir. Agent Barnes. There is a security hazard in the building. For your safety, we need you to vacate the building. There is a coffee shop across the street with a temporary staging area. Please go there immediately. Use the stairwell, the elevator is not safe. We only have minutes to secure the building. After that, I cannot guarantee your safety."

He spun away to the next door and repeated what he'd just said when another tenant answered, without even looking at the first apartment. The next two doors yielded no answer, and Bucky turned back in time to see the stairwell door closing behind the two tenants. He waited two minutes, then walked back to the first apartment and forced the door open with his metal shoulder.

He closed the door behind him and took a quick look around. The apartment was slightly different than the one right above, but he knew where he wanted to be. Bucky grabbed a chair from the kitchen and measured off several steps until he stood in the master bedroom. Right above was his old room. Hopefully S.H.I.E.L.D wasn't using it.

He needed a distraction. Bucky picked up the round metal trashcan he'd noted when entering the apartment, and took it back to the stairwell. He placed it on its side, then gave it a little push and ducked back out onto the floor, smiling in grim satisfaction as he heard the clanging from behind the stairwell door. Shouts from above told him it had worked, so he darted back to the apartment and up onto the chair as fast as he could.

Metal arm extended above his head, hand fisted, he jumped straight up. The metal hand broke through the ceiling and the floor above it. Bucky dropped back down to the chair, switched arms, and jumped up again. His real hand curled around the jagged edge of the hole, latching on to a floor beam, and it creaked but held his weight. Ignoring the jagged edges that were cutting his palm, he reached up with the metal hand to pull at the surrounding area, widening the hole.

To him, the sounds he was making were extraordinarily loud, but the area above did not light up. Then again, they might just be waiting. He had chosen to break through in the closet of his room, and he could easily envision a gathering of agents waiting outside the closet door, ready to shoot him.

When the hole was wide enough to fit his shoulders, Bucky once again bunched his arm muscles and pulled, popping up through the hole and landing silently in the dark closet. He froze, listening for signs of agents outside of the closet, but the room outside was dark, and the only thing he _could_ hear was Steve's slurred shouting - so very close now. His friend was pissed. Based on the direction his voice came from, they had him in the living room area.

What was available to use in his room? His assassin trained mind inventoried what he had left behind. There were assorted items, gifts from Darcy mostly, that could be thrown to knock someone out. Something that could obviously be used as a weapon would not be available. The three of them had tried to assassin-proof the apartment after his dream-walking incident, in addition to allowing Stark to install a subroutine of his AI, Jarvis, to monitor…

Well shit. Bucky smiled hard. The version of Jarvis that had been installed had the capability of putting him down, like Stark Tower's defense protocols had when he'd been the Winter Soldier. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut briefly, hoping against hope that Steve and Darcy had not disabled the program with his absence.

The main console was in his room. Unlike Stark's homes or places of business, this was a relatively limited version of Jarvis, and functioned primarily from the console.

He opened his eyes and slid the closet door open slowly, still anticipating being on the wrong end of about a dozen guns, but the dark room was empty. The bedroom door was closed, so he was secure for a moment. Steve was making enough noise that any creaking of the floor shouldn't be noticed. Bucky crossed to the wall panel on light feet, and then paused.

It was targeted to his biology, and would shock the hell out of him if he touched it. That was a safety feature to prevent him from dismantling it.

"Jarvis?" he inquired in barely a whisper.

He heard a soft whirring, something an ordinary ear wouldn't pick up, especially over Steve's drugged shouts nearby, and a green light lit up on the console. He knew the unit had audio capabilities, because it had spoken to Stark when the billionaire had installed it.

The cocky hero was so much like his father that Bucky felt a severe case of déjà vu when Stark had come strolling into the apartment as if he owned it. It had knocked his head off balance, and left him doubting his current reality. Steve had noticed his rapid fire eye blinking and bracing hand on one wall, and immediately set about reassuring him. Bucky struggled with it, though, and finally Steve had suggested a walk outside. Stark had made some type of sarcastic comment before they went, and Steve used his cell phone to stay in touch with Darcy so that he knew when it was safe to return. They did so after Stark was gone, and Darcy had complained about the AI talking to Stark while it was being installed.

"It was in pieces on the floor, but it was talking to him," she'd complained. "That's just wrong."

He hoped it could still do so. "Jarvis?" he whispered again.

"Sergeant Barnes," the voice was barely audible, which was truly terrifying if Bucky thought about it for too long. It meant that the AI had assessed the situation and had the programming necessary to realize that secrecy was needed. "My systems are coming online, one moment."

Every moment was an eternity. One moment longer that Darcy was in unfriendly hands, and Steve was being dishonored by the very agency he worked for.

"All systems are now online. Do you wish to have the current situation reported to Mr. Stark?"

"Yes. Can you tell me how many agents are in the apartment?"

"There are ten S.H.I.E.L.D agents currently in the apartment. My sensors do not extend beyond the apartment, but it seems prudent to assume there are more agents outside the apartment."

As the Winter Soldier, he could have easily killed ten agents before they even knew there was a problem. But Bucky didn't want to kill. Not these people.

"What are your capabilities? Can you put any of them or all of them down?"

"The system capabilities should be able to neutralize five agents, but they will need to pass between the arrays."

Bucky nodded. Located in the walls outside his room and on the way toward the outside door, the tiny metal arrays were capable of generating a cross charge that could put him down.

"Barnes," another voice whispered through the wall console.

"Stark?" he answered.

"Jarvis just notified me that his systems came online in Capsicle's apartment, and that you're there. Barton assembled us – Darcy's been snatched?"

"Yes. They're detaining Steve. Someone at S.H.I.E.L.D has lost their mind," Bucky snarled as softly as he could. "What can you do?"

"Jarvis is hacking their system, to get any information about Darcy's kidnapping that can be found. We're on our way, but will reroute if we get more information on little spitfire. Barton is leaking that information, to help create a distraction. You're springing the Cap?"

"Damn straight. They've been pumping him with tranqs, to keep him controllable. As soon as that stops, it's gonna clear out of his system, and Steve is gonna be very angry."

Stark's voice was almost gleeful. "Have at it, then. Jarvis is at your complete disposal."

Bucky was practically crawling out of his own skin now. It was time to free Steve. "How do we get them back here?"

"My arrays also have holographic projectors. Might I suggest that you arm yourself, Sergeant Barnes? I will provide bait."

Bucky made a quick circuit of the room, picking up an armful of items that could be thrown, and returned to the console. "Let's do this."

Right outside the bedroom door, he heard Stark's voice, masterfully copied. "Uh hey agents. Can we crash this party?"

Running footsteps announced that the bait was successful. Bucky waited tensely. A loud sizzle sounded, followed by the thuds of bodies dropping to the floor. That elicited alarmed cries, followed by more running footsteps, and that was his cue.

Bucky exploded out of the bedroom, tossing three baseballs, a hand weight, and a solid glass paperweight at the S.H.I.E.L.D agents who were running to help their downed comrades. His aim was devastating, and they dropped before they even realized there was a problem. He kept moving, heading toward the living room area, eyes sweeping for other agents. No one else had entered yet.

Steve was secured in a heavy duty metal chair that looked like it belonged in a mad scientist's lab. It had been bolted to the floor. There was an intravenous needle in Steve's arm, and glittering metal restraints swathing his arms, legs and torso. The sight ignited Bucky's rage, and he lunged forward to rip the needle from Steve's arm.

Glazed blue eyes turned up to look at him, and Steve blinked. "Buck?" he asked groggily, voice hoarse from shouting.

"You'll be yourself in a few minutes," he assured, biting off every word. Then he reached out with the metal hand and strained against the metal bands securing Steve to the chair. While the bands were adamantium, the metal chair was not, and he just started tearing the restraints out of the chair.

Shouts from outside the apartment told Bucky that his time was up. He tore one final restraint free and spun, picking up the coffee table as he did so. Agents were pouring into the apartment. Bucky dove across the room and slammed the coffee table into the front runners, pushing them out. He caught a brief glimpse of too many more out in the hallway before popping to his feet and slamming the door shut. The coffee table served as an impromptu brace for the door, and he also dragged the sofa in front of it.

"Someone is gonna get hurt for this," the voice at his back snarled.

Bucky turned. Steve had freed himself from the chair, and was standing, albeit shakily. The door would hold for now. He flowed across the room to Steve's side, lending a shoulder when the blond listed to one side dangerously.

Steve patted him on the chest. "You came for me," he slurred, blue eyes boring into Bucky's face.

"Of course." He could literally see the tranquilizers being metabolized, as portions of Steve's body went from slack to normal.

"You…you…I am so mad at you right now."

Bucky felt his stomach twist violently. "Later. Let's go get your girl."

Steve straightened, pulling away from him and heading toward the bedroom with purposeful strides. Bucky watched him go, and then quickly dragged the loveseat over in front of the door, inverting it on top of the sofa.

"Catch!"

He turned and caught the bundle of clothing that was tossed at his face. And flung it away as soon as he recognized it. His Winter Soldier gear. No.

Steve's expression was unreadable as he picked it up and walked across the apartment to hand it back. He'd already pulled on his Captain America uniform. "Gear up. Other than my uniform, it's the only thing I have for you to wear that is resistant to knives and bullets."

Bucky shook his head, taking a step back, staring at the bundle like it was live grenade. "No." Why did Steve even have it?

Steve slammed the bundle into his chest, and his other hand fisted in Bucky's shirt, hauling him close. "We're going for Darcy. I need to know that you've got my back, and for that, you need to wear something other than cotton." His face twisted, part rage, part despair. "Now gear up."

Bucky staggered back a step as Steve released him. He stared down at the bundle of clothing in his arms. What if he put it on, and donned more than the clothing?

"I trust you," Steve said softly. "And I need your help to rescue Darcy."

Fuck. Bucky stripped out of his tee shirt and sweats, and pulled the tactical suit on, trying to ignore the way it made his skin crawl. Splintering wood from behind his furniture barricade made him dress hastily. S.H.I.E.L.D was breaking through.

"You have something for me to shoot?" he asked, voice catching.

Steve looked at him measuringly for a moment, then took two steps to his right, to where the loveseat use to be, and stomped down hard on a floorboard. Bucky stared in astonishment as the board flipped up to reveal a deep and narrow weapon locker, brimming with guns. Steve tossed two handguns to him, and took one for himself.

Bucky tucked the guns into his belt and looked up at Steve. "Was this here while I was?"

Steve nodded grimly, securing his shield on his back. "Yes."

Of all the stupid… "That was just dumb, Steve! What if I'd found this when I was dream walking?"

His friend turned away. "I told you I trust you. We've gotta go. They're breaking through. How did you get in?"

Bucky led the way back to his room. When Steve saw the hole in the closet floor, he grinned in appreciation for a moment, before worry fell back onto his shoulders. "We're gonna have a long talk after she's safe," he warned. Then he dropped down through the hole.

Bucky pulled the closet door shut behind him, it would buy them a little time, and followed through after Steve. He took the lead, backtracking out of the apartment. His ears told him that the stairwell was compromised, so he led the way back to the closest corner apartment that was in the back of the building, forced the door open, and headed out to the balcony.

Steve followed him without question when he went over the side of the balcony, swinging briefly from the balustrade, and then dropping to the balcony below. Like this, they worked their way down to street level. Bucky couldn't understand why S.H.I.E.L.D wasn't covering the back, but then he thought back to the reaction of the Level 4 agent he'd overheard. Resignation to the situation, but no conviction that they were doing the right thing. He was willing to bet that they were following their orders to the letter, and not any more than that.

Steve's motorcycle was parked nearby. "I know where Darcy is," he told Bucky, heading toward his bike. "S.H.I.E.L.D has her location, but they wouldn't let me go get her. My relationship with her leaves me…compromised."

Bucky clenched his teeth. "We'll deal with them after she's safe, okay?"

Steve stared at him for a long moment, until Bucky started to feel uncomfortable. "Agreed." He swung himself onto the bike, and Bucky slid on behind him.

"What can we expect?"

"Some kind of mercenary group that I apparently pissed off," Steve responded tightly.

Figures. "Lotta guns and knives?"

"Yep."

"Let's do it."

As Steve gunned the bike into the street, Bucky tried to push all of his conflicting emotions aside. Later it would be time to deal with everything. Right now, they had to rescue Darcy.


	4. Chapter 4

I just want to say thanks to all my fantastic readers! Your encouragement has kept me going. Sorry this update took a little longer, but I was having some trouble making this work like I wanted it to, so I totally cheated, and threw in a little Darcy POV. Without ripping the whole thing apart, it was the only way to share everything I wanted to convey.

I think this is the end of this particular arc of the larger story. Bucky had to go through hell and a little redemption before he was anywhere close to being ready for a relationship, and his journey needed to be told.

* * *

Darcy was being held inside a building in the middle of the warehouse district. Or so S.H.I.E.L.D's information said and Stark confirmed. Steve had contacted the billionaire as soon as they were on the bike. The Avengers had been on route to Steve's apartment to help spring him, but were rerouting to Darcy's location, according to the terse update the captain barked at Bucky once he finished talking to Stark.

The motorcycle trip there was tense. Steve was angry silent and crazy worried about his girl. Bucky could sense all of that without even seeing his face. Between them, there was so much that hadn't been said, anger and hurt, but it was never in question that Bucky would help and Steve needed that help.

He felt dread coiling in his stomach. Steve was so angry and so worried about Darcy that he might do exactly what S.H.I.E.L.D feared, and go on a vindictive rampage. America needed Captain America, in this dark day and age, and Captain America needed to be tarnish free. But wasn't that why Bucky was here? No one cared about his image; it was already tarnished beyond salvation. He could do what needed to be done.

Still, the thought of taking up that mantle again had the bile rising in the back of his throat. What if he couldn't stop? What if he reverted to the monster he'd been?

Some deep part of him ached at the thought of Steve holding on to the Winter Soldier gear. It felt like a betrayal. Was Steve just waiting for him to revert? Had he anticipated S.H.I.E.L.D's desire to utilize the assassin skills? Did he…did he support that idea?

The questions twisted painfully in his gut without answer. Bucky bowed his head, body shifting automatically with the movements of the motorcycle. It was too much he didn't want to think about. They needed to get to Darcy and make sure she was safe. That was all that mattered.

He was too lost in his own problems to register where they were until he felt Steve shifting in front of him. Bucky looked up, internal switch flipping back to assassin mode without even a thought, and barely had time to swear and draw his guns.

Steve preferred the direct approach, it seemed.

He reached up to unhook the shield from Steve's back, legs gripping the motorcycle tight even as they sped toward a warehouse door. Steve wasn't stopping, he was accelerating, and Bucky readied himself for anything.

He felt rather than saw Steve throw something at the warehouse door. Some type of explosive device, Bucky realized, as he watched it stick to the door. Fiery lines flared out from it and then flashed brightly. When Steve gunned the motorcycle right at the burned out spot, Bucky braced himself.

The bike shuddered when it hit the door, but the flash burned metal buckled inward and they were through. Bucky grimaced as a shattered piece of metal dragged along his real arm, and nearly dropped the gun and shield. His conditioning took over, eyes scanning the interior of the warehouse impossibly fast, identifying targets. There were 20 thugs.

Something on the motorcycle gave up with a pang of overstressed metal, it swerved sharply, and Bucky tumbled free. He lost his grip on the shield in the middle of a roll, and popped to his feet. Bullets were already flying toward him, but he was light on his feet and fast, zigzagging in an advance pattern. He wouldn't shoot until…there she was!

Darcy was slumped against one wall, sitting on the floor, hands tied in front of her, with tear tracks down her cheeks. Hope lit up like a beacon in her eyes when she saw who had just crashed into the warehouse. One of the mercenaries stood over her, gun pointed toward the intruders, shouting out orders that didn't make much sense.

The wreckage of the bike flew past Bucky's left shoulder, knocking down at least five thugs, and seconds later, the shield flew past his right, taking out another thug. Steve appeared on his right, arm extended to catch the shield as it bounced back to him, eyes fixed on Darcy. He had no gun in his hands, which was probably a good thing.

"You stay clean," Bucky hissed at him. "You let me do any wetwork."

Steve shot him a hard glance, but then had to focus on the remaining mercenaries, who were advancing with guns blazing.

Fighting at Steve's side, despite everything that had happened since they had last done it, was like operating a well-oiled machine. It was smooth and easy, and everything else seemed to melt away. There was a clear objective in front of them, and bad guys all around, and a need to stay alive until the objective was reached.

Bucky drew his guns, still gracefully sliding away from bullets, and looked to Steve for the offer. It always happened and Steve didn't disappoint. In his ringing Captain voice, he advised the men with the guns to lay down their weapons and their lives would be spared. Steve didn't expect them to, and when they didn't, he gave Bucky the nod.

Three well placed shots brought down three men. Bucky ducked as one man got too close, desperately swinging his now empty gun at Bucky's head. Assassin skills took over, guns tucked into his belt, hands shooting out to snatch the empty gun from the man's hands. He followed through with a quick jab to the man's temple, rendering him unconscious. The guns were pulled back out, even as he backtracked to Steve, who was fighting three men at once. Bucky helpfully clubbed one in the temple with the butt of his gun and Steve smoothly took down the other two.

The remaining men retreated, squeezing off desperate shots if they still had ammo.

The man who'd been barking desperate orders grabbed Darcy by the arm, hauling her to her feet and pressing a gun to her temple. Bucky spat out a curse as Steve froze, ignoring everything else but his girl, and took a bullet in the shoulder. Darcy shrieked as Steve dropped, blood blossoming immediately on the uniform. Bucky didn't hesitate, squeezing off one round that took the leader in the middle of the forehead. Darcy screamed as the mercenary crumbled, pulling her down with him, out of the line of fire.

Tamping down all thoughts and emotions, Bucky took the rest of the mercenaries out in less than five seconds, ignoring the bullets whizzing by him. At his feet, Steve groaned, and Bucky glanced down even as he squeezed off his last shot.

Pain struck him like a freight train in the ribs. Bucky exhaled sharply, taking an off step balance backward, cursing himself for his own moment of inattention. Lucky shot from the now-dead merc he had just dropped. Armor piercing bullet. Shit.

He watched Darcy pull herself free from the dead leader and scramble across the room to Steve, throwing her arms around him. "You're shot!" Her voice was high and shrill.

"I'll heal," he assured in a shaky voice, reaching up to cup her face with both hands. "Are you okay?"

There was such raw emotion in Steve's voice and in Darcy's small distressed sounds as she touched his face that Bucky turned away. Physical pain had nothing on what he felt right now.

A little late to the party, the Avengers burst onto the scene, ripping the warehouse door open from the outside. Bucky relaxed, finally lowering his gun. As Steve's teammates swarmed into the warehouse, Bucky faded into a corner, watching. Nothing else existed to Steve and Darcy in that moment. They were completely focused on each other to the exclusion of everything else around them. It…it was hard to watch.

Steve had found a place to fit into this century, with his teammates and Darcy. It felt like something out of Bucky's reach, and he didn't want to stick around to watch anymore.

No one noticed when he slipped out of the warehouse.

Going back to his S.H.I.E.L.D cell/apartment was not an option, nor was returning to Steve and Darcy's place. Bucky kept a watchful eye out for agents, hostiles or Avengers as he melted into the night, leaving it all behind.

He kept to side streets and alleys, trading the guns in at a shady looking pawnshop for a change of clothing and some cash. Something kept him from giving up the Winter Soldier gear. He couldn't even acknowledge to himself why he did it, except maybe that Steve had kept it for a reason, and maybe he should too. He changed in the backroom of the pawnshop, using wads of paper towels to patch over the bleeding gunshot wound. He was pretty sure there was a cracked rib too. Maybe even a punctured lung, based on his wheezing breath. The Winter Soldier gear went into a plastic bag, and Bucky left the pawnshop owner a generous tip for the use of his back room.

Pain was beginning to overwhelm him, both emotional and physical. Bucky wanted to forget. All those memories of his time as the Winter Soldier were more immediate now. All the atrocities, the cold-blooded killings…it was all in his head now.

He swung into a bar and used his remaining cash to buy two bottles of hard stuff. Unlike Steve, he could get drunk. It would help him forget. For a little while at least.

* * *

Darcy clutched at Steve, ignoring the blood seeping from his shoulder, taking a few precious moments to feel safe. The last few hours had been terrifying. She'd been on her way to Stark Tower and had stopped at the coffee shop, like normal. When she walked out, there was a circle of rough looking men standing there. Waiting for her, obviously. Darcy did the only thing she could think of, and threw her coffee at them. It bought her maybe two seconds before they grabbed her. Since then, she had learned too much.

Moment of feeling safe over, she had to convey what she knew. She sat back, breath still huffing a little.

"Steve. Steve!"

He was trembling, gloved hands stroking her arms and face. "It's okay, he said shakily. "You're okay."

Darcy shook her head. "It wasn't about you!" she blurted.

Suddenly she was the focus of too much attention. Steve's Captain face took over, and Stark, Thor and Barton were right there behind him.

Steve cupped her face. "What do you mean? They grabbed my girl. That feels pretty damn much about me."

He rarely swore and that alone told her how upset and scared he'd been. Yeah, Darcy could relate to that. She took a deep breath. "They were going to kill me," she said softly. "So I was disposable, and they didn't care what they said."

Steve's eyes narrowed, lips thinning in anger. "And?"

Darcy licked her lips nervously. "Whoever was giving orders…they have a grudge against you from something that happened a long time ago."

"How long?" Stark interrupted.

Darcy frowned at the billionaire. "Before he was frozen. So part of the reason I was grabbed was with an eye toward revenge. But mostly…mostly they wanted you too busy worrying about me so they could take Bucky."

Steve pulled back from her like he'd been slapped, eyes growing comically wide. "Bucky? Why?"

She swallowed hard. "They wanted the Winter Soldier. They were holding me until they got confirmation that he was in custody and cooperating."

Steve's eyes lit with anger. "Bucky would never cooperate with that!"

"That's the other reason they grabbed me. So he would."

Steve rose to his feet. "Not a chance." He looked around past his teammates, blinked and frowned, then looked again. "Bucky?"

Darcy used his leg as a climbing post to pull herself up. "Steve? I saw him here with you. Bucky?" She looked around frantically. "Steve…where is he?"

A flurry of activity followed. Stark was barking orders at his AI to hack traffic cameras to try to get eyes on Bucky. Darcy just twisted her hands anxiously. He was out there, alone, with some serious goons looking to grab him and use him for assassin purposes.

Steve was just as worried, especially when he saw the blood droplets where Bucky had been standing, and then apparently faded back against a wall. All while Darcy had eyes for nothing else but Steve and the safety he represented. She had completely ignored Bucky's presence! How much of his disappearance had to do with feeling…unloved? Unimportant? Unnoticed?

It made Darcy feel sick to her stomach. He was so fragile emotionally, and she knew that he felt very strongly about both of them. They were his base, his foundation. Just as he was their completion. And she had completely ignored him.

Her feelings for Bucky were jumbled and confused. He'd very swiftly become just as important to her as he was to Steve, and she didn't want to be without him. Steve didn't either. It hurt him terribly when Bucky left them, leaving him incomplete again. When they'd come busting through the warehouse doors together, Steve was whole. Angry and scared, but whole, without that deep emptiness and loneliness that had always been part of him before.

Realizing that Steve wasn't a whole person without Bucky, and that her relationship with Steve was fragile at best without him was…strange. Before Bucky, Darcy knew she would always fall secondary to Steve's memories. She'd held onto him desperately tight, because it felt like she held a shadow. But when Bucky had returned, suddenly Steve was complete. His passion for life, without that deep abiding sadness, had spilled over into their relationship and made it much stronger. When Bucky left them, the sadness returned, and this time it affected her as well.

It was…empty…without him. And that scared her. What did it say about her relationship with Steve that it didn't feel right without Bucky being there? And that wasn't fair to Bucky. She remembered how he had held onto her when she'd visited him, body trembling, and then pulled away and told her to go back to Steve. Maybe it had made a little sense then, why he left them. 'Them' was too hard for him to deal with.

Darcy pulled a blanket tighter around her shoulders. Steve was pacing angrily back and forth, itching for action. He still wasn't used to Stark's way of doing things, preferring action to computers, but he wouldn't really have a hope of finding Bucky just by going out and looking.

If Natasha were here, she'd track him down right away. The woman was scary like that. But she was not with the Avengers. Clint was standing near the door, talking on his cell phone, looking more and more agitated by the moment. Darcy had overheard him say Natasha's name, so knew he was talking to the redhead, but it didn't look like a pleasant conversation.

There were police milling about, finishing up with the scene. Steve had been adamant about not calling in S.H.I.E.L.D. He was very angry about being detained, and was itching to have a long conversation with Fury about it. It didn't help that Stark had kept needling him about it. Stark didn't trust Fury or S.H.I.E.L.D, and he wanted everyone to see things his way. So Steve had Jarvis call the police instead of S.H.I.E.L.D, and had invoked his full authority as Captain America when they arrived, to explain what had happened.

It wasn't the first time Darcy had seen dead bodies, but it was the first time she'd seen people gunned down in real life. It wasn't like Hollywood showed it, unless watching the grittier stuff. Blood and stuff had exited the bodies in a spray when Bucky shot them. It was his reaction to it all that had touched her more than the killings though. He was emotionless and precise, like…like an assassin. It hadn't escaped her attention that he had been wearing the Winter Soldier clothes. Steve had kept them. She wasn't really sure why, and she was going to ask him about it, once Bucky was safe.

Clint's angry shout drew everyone's attention, and Darcy followed Steve over to the archer.

"What is it?"

Barton turned to face them. "Tasha shipped out yesterday morning, on a mission that Fury was ordered to personally oversee, by the council. It was in Calcutta. When they got there, the mission was scrubbed and Fury was told to wait for orders."

Darcy watched Steve's face flicker through several emotions. "To get Fury out of the way?"

Barton nodded grimly. "That's what Tasha thinks. They're on their way back now."

Just then, Stark shouted in triumph. "Found him, Capsicle. Wow…he doesn't look so good."

Steve looked down at Darcy. "I'll bring him back," he promised.

She nodded. "Don't let him run."

"I won't. We need him." For a moment, there was acknowledgement in Steve's eyes of … something. They would talk about it later.

* * *

Bucky looked up blearily from his position on the ground in a dark alley, and heaved a sigh. He was pleasantly numb, but shit was about to hit the fan. "Steve," he greeted, lifting the bottle to take another swig. It was smacked out of his hands and shattered on the ground. What a waste.

"That was rude," he pointed out. Lucky for him, he had another bottle tucked in behind him. That one didn't fare any better when he pulled it out, shattering on the building across the alley. Apparently, Steve was pissed.

Bucky inhaled deeply. "So?"

Steve reached down and grabbed him by the collar of his coat, hauling Bucky to his feet. Oops, no, it wasn't Steve. It was Captain America standing in front of him. Steve didn't Captain him often, only when he was very angry. And right now, he looked very angry.

"I said we had to talk after she was safe." Every word was bitten off, like Steve was fighting the impulse to shout.

Bucky shrugged. "Nothing really to talk about, punk. We rescued her, she's safe."

Steve's face twisted. "What are you doing, Buck? You say terrible things to us so we won't stop you when you want to get away. You willingly put yourself back into S.H.I.E.L.D's custody just to get away from us. All the progress you made with us starts to deteriorate. You completely destroy your S.H.I.E.L.D apartment!" He shook his head. "But as soon as you heard about Darcy and me, you came back to save us. So what are you doing now?"

How could he even articulate the conflicted feelings he had for both of them? "I told ya I'd follow ya into hell if necessary," he said softly. "I meant that. I'd take on the devil himself to save you or Darcy, because you pulled me back out of the abyss and I love you both."

"But you just don't want to live with us? Why not?"

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. "I can't be around the 'us' part, Steve. Don't know how you put up with it, back in the day. Me always having a dame on my arm. It was pretty shitty of me."

Steve shook his head, eyes fixed on his. "Never cared much about that, Buck. I was just grateful that I got to spend more time with you."

Well that just hurt. "I'm not that strong, Steve. I…I miss being the most important person in your life. It's selfish of me, but…"

Steve stared at him for a long time, different emotions warring with each other on his face. "You're not any less important to me than Darcy is, Buck."

He shook his head, pulling away. Watching their closeness was too much. "It's different. I still can't do it. Just…just let me go, Steve." When he turned to walk off in another direction, Steve slapped a hand hard against his ribs.

"You don't get to run away again!"

Shit. Lights exploded in front of Bucky's eyes. That really hurt. Of course Steve managed to hit the gunshot wound that hadn't started to heal yet. Bucky exhaled sharply in a wet cough. "Dammit Steve." He tried to take a breath, and coughed again. Wetly, with flecks of blood flying from his lips.

Dimly, he heard Steve calling for help, saw the wide eyed shock on his friend's face, even felt the hands on his arms holding him upright, but it was dim and growing dimmer. Bucky welcomed the darkness. It was much easier than consciousness at this point.

* * *

Bucky swam up out of darkness. It was a good waking, one of those sleeps without dreams. He felt refreshed, like himself again.

Before any other senses kicked in, he smelled coffee. The usual, of course. So he knew right where he was. Memories took a little longer to surface. Once they did, he wasn't sure if he wanted to be awake.

"Don't pretend to still be asleep," Steve's voice told him. "That doesn't work, remember?"

Strangely enough, he did. When they were burning out Hydra's bases, traveling all over Europe with the Commandos, Bucky and Steve had shared a tent. The nightmares had already started. Back then, it was Zola's leering dwarf face , and what he'd done, that haunted Bucky's sleep. He didn't want to worry Steve though, so he acted as if everything was normal. Tried to pretend that he was sleeping, but it never worked. Steve always knew. And if Steve ever wondered about the unnatural dependency on him that Bucky developed during that time…

He'd always been the lady's man, the one with options, because he wasn't a 90 pound severe asthmatic shrimp. He was the strong one. When the roles were reversed…Bucky wasn't quite sure how to deal with that. Everyone looked to Steve for answers, and any women they encountered practically swooned. Even though Steve only had eyes for Peggy. Steve was bigger than life though, and uncomfortable in his own skin, and it was oddly…appealing. He was Bucky's sanity, and the light in the dark places that Zola had dug into and opened up inside of him.

Bucky cracked his eyes open. Steve was sitting beside the bed in a kitchen chair, feet propped up on the bed. He looked relaxed and edgy at the same time.

"Thanks for going right for the gunshot and broken ribs, punk."

Steve winced and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, sorry about that. It wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been trying to run, though."

Bucky shrugged. "Safest option."

"Why didn't you call me when they tried to recruit you?"

Bucky looked up sharply at the hurt tone. He didn't like being the focus of Steve's disapproving scowl though, and looked away. "My problem. Not yours."

"Like hell," Steve responded tightly. "This whole mess could have been avoided. That's why they grabbed Darcy. They wanted my attention elsewhere, and wanted to guarantee your compliance."

He felt like vomiting suddenly. His instincts had been right. Suit had set the whole thing up just to grab him, but hadn't counted on loose lips, and Bucky coming back to life once he had a purpose. It would have worked. He would have agreed to anything to keep Darcy safe, or Steve.

He sat up, wincing only a little at the pain in his side. It was healing nicely, and he could feel tape around his torso, holding things steady. Somebody had patched him up.

"S.H.I.E.L.D was behind this whole thing," he spit out.

Steve nodded. "Not S.H.I.E.L.D so much as the World Security Council. Someone on the council sent Fury on a wild goose chase to get him out of the way so they could do this. But they didn't count on you breaking out." He looked down then, avoiding Bucky's gaze. "I know you didn't want to come back here, and I think I understand why, but I had to keep you safe. I couldn't let them grab you."

There was more he wasn't saying. Steve was never very good at articulating how he felt. Then again, Bucky didn't have any room to judge. He held everything inside as well. It was a guy thing.

For a minute, or maybe three, neither of them said anything. Then Bucky finally had to ask – "So, why did you keep the clothes?"

Steve looked sheepish, ducking his head. "I thought that once Fury cleared you, you could come work with me, like old times. And…I thought maybe you'd feel more comfortable in clothes you knew."

A noise at the door of Bucky's bedroom had both of them looking up. Darcy stood there with coffee mugs in hand and a tentative smile. "I told him how bad of an idea that was," she assured, walking in to distribute coffee. Bucky didn't quite make grabby hands at her, but it was a close thing.

Bucky sipped, feeling the peace he always felt with the coffee, because so much else came with it. "Which part did you think was a bad idea, pumpkin? Me working with him again, or him thinking I would want to wear those clothes while doing it?"

She rolled her eyes. "Which one do you think, Barnes? Obviously, the two of you work together very well. Doofus here just didn't think about what memories those clothes could bring up." Her expression reflected exactly what she thought of that.

Interesting. Steve's ears were getting red, and if he ducked his head any further, he was going to cave in his chest. Apparently, Darcy had given him an earful. "Why…why did you keep them?" he finally blurted out, glancing up at Bucky from under his long lashes.

He shrugged. "Because you did, and I didn't know why."

Darcy rolled her eyes, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "The two of you are hopeless." She sipped her coffee and leaned back against Bucky's good side, avoiding the side that was healing. "Thank you for busting Steve out, and coming for me," she said softly.

Bucky exhaled, staring down at the top of her head. "I…I had to. I'd do it again."

"We need you with us," she said softly, eyes fixed on Steve. "We're not…complete…without you."

Shit. That was low of her. Guilt tripping him into staying, but she didn't realize what it would do to him. Then again, being by himself…well…it really had been worse. He didn't feel complete without them either.

"Want you working with me," Steve told him in a rough voice, not looking at him. "Fury owed me big time. He couldn't say no to anything I asked. You're clear. If you want to go, if you can't stand being around us, then you can go. I want you to stay. Work with me. Still need to track down who was behind all of this, and I can't think of anyone I'd rather have watching my back."

Bucky swallowed hard. "Not even your new buddies? Not Stark?"

"Hell no. They're great, but I'm just getting to know them. They've got nothing on my history with you. I'll follow the guy that follows me and protects my girl any day."

It wouldn't be easy, Bucky reflected, but he'd been through the alternative and it had sucked. Maybe he would feel differently on a day when the nightmares were pulling at his sanity, but right now, he didn't want to be alone again. And he had his freedom now, so if he wanted to go out and get laid, he would.

"Could you do me one favor, pumpkin?" he asked.

Darcy tilted her head back so she could look up at him. "Yeah?"

Bucky shot a hesitant look at Steve, then looked back down at her. "Can you try to be quieter at night?"

For a second, she didn't seem to know what he was talking about, but then she flushed bright red. "Ohmigod Barnes. You are such an ass." She sipped her coffee furiously. "Am I that loud?" she finally asked in a small voice.

Bucky exhaled. "Yeah. You really are."

Steve was even redder than Darcy. He coughed uncomfortably. "Does that mean you'll stay?"

Suddenly, Bucky's coffee was very interesting. "For now. I…I didn't do so well by myself."

Darcy nearly spilled her own coffee and his when she wiggled around and threw her arms around him. "I saw that," she deadpanned. "We missed you."

For the first time in a month, Bucky felt closer to whole again. When Steve leaned over and circled both of them with his arms, then everything felt just perfect.


End file.
